


Wolves of Brennenburg

by LadyScale



Category: Amnesia: The Dark Descent
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alcohol, Animal Attack, Animalistic, Animals, Blood, British, British Character, Castle Brennenburg, Castles, Creepy, Creepypasta, Dark Magic, Deutsch | German, Diary/Journal, Dogs, Eldritch, Feral Behavior, Food, Food Poisoning, Foreign Language, Foreshadowing, Forests, Fridge Horror, Fridge Logic, Funny, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Gore, Horror, Horseback Riding, Horses, Hunting, Implied Future Character Death, Implied Torture, Interesting, Late at Night, Literary References & Allusions, Literature, Magical Artifacts, Mausoleums, Memorabilia, Memorials, Mystery, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Night Terrors, Nightmares, No Sex, No Smut, Nobility, Old Age, Older Characters, Pets, Phobias, Piano, Roses, Servants, Supernatural Elements, Surreal, Taxidermy, Tea, Throphies, Training, Urns, Victorian, Victorian Attitudes, Wild Hunt, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyScale/pseuds/LadyScale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Baron of Brennenburg is the owner of several wolf-like dogs.<br/>Just one of the many oddities Daniel finds during his stay at the castle, his curiosity revealing mysteries and intrigues. Savory descriptions, intimidating hounds, peculiar servants, and a plethora of delicious references Amnesia fans are sure to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill in the Amnesia Kink Meme: <http://amnesiakink.livejournal.com/741.html?thread=575461#t575461>
> 
> There will be direct excerpts and references from in-game diary entries and flashbacks. See if you can spot them. ;D  
> Also, sorry if there are any errors. English is not my first language.

_**2nd August 1839** _

_I have arrived at the village of Altstadt. It's a haven in the midst of a vast forest and it's the last stop before my final destination, Castle Brennenburg. It's late in the evening and the outrider, who has been with the coach since Bremen, advised me to wait until morning before I venture further._

_I have arranged for a bed at Der Mühle, the village's only inn, and am now waiting for the sun to rise. I try to sleep, but as I close my eyes I see the men who fell victim in London. My fear and shame forces me to witness the same scenes over and over._

_They are dead because of me._

  
~~~=(@)=~~~

 

Upon finishing the paragraph, Daniel sets the ink pen down and closes his journal. The candle on the nightstand at his side had melted almost to a stub since he had let it burn through a significant portion of the night.

Nearly the dead of night – he noticed upon checking his pocket watch. He had tried to rest as soon as he arrived to the inn at dusk almost three hours ago, laying his travel-weary body under the white sheets, but his restless mind and the uncertainty of what may lay beyond in his dreams made him toss and turn until those sheets were haphazardly tangled around him.

And so he remains awake, covers up to his waist and leaning against the headboard, busying himself with whatever’s at his disposal. Depositing his thoughts in writing onto paper and staring at the soothing balm of candle-light, he hoped for slumber to overcome him.

Daniel finally puts his journal back in the traveling case at the side of the bed, and easing out of the covers, he carefully treads bare feet over the wooden floor towards the window. The inn had an unobstructed view of the castle which loomed in the far distance.

The dark towers of Brennenburg rose above the forest and were silhouetted against the snow white moon. He couldn't help feeling sad for some reason.

He had heard hushed whispers about the castle from a few of the local villagers. That it was haunted, that it was unholy, that it housed sect worshipers, that the servants were former convicts, that the owner was supposedly not human… all manner of deviant thoughts and possibilities bordering on ridiculous. Not one to take to heart the insecurities of unschooled peasants, much less those superstitious enough to forfeit handling their livestock if the onions on the dinner table are the wrong color, he reckoned whatever was supposedly unwell with the grounds was nowhere near as ghastly as what was plaguing his every step.

Dragging his feet back towards the bed, he attempts once again to go to sleep, blowing out the candle before hurriedly digging himself further into the sheets. Making sure his legs were securely wrapped and that no part of him lay exposed to the open air, tucking the covers up high over his back and head into a comfortable cocoon, Daniel looked at the moon through the glass of the wide window pane, its glow filtering in and caressing his face.

And there, in the absence of any other light, in the presence of hidden leviathans coiled around bedposts and unseen horrors lurking in the shadows of coat hangers, all which only existed in the back of his mind, the moon never looked so beautiful.

An indiscernible amount of time passes where his limited range of view is focused on the alluring rays of the sublime pale moon. A faded wail is heard. Then another followed by more, overlapping eachother. His mind resonated with memories of lakes echoing with the call of loons under the orange mist of sunset.

Then it dawns on him, under scrutiny of the moonlight – moonlight which called to mystic connotations, poetic allusions, and countless associated symbols of the moon in his mind – discarded the enigma of loons singing so late and in tandem.

He realizes, now with almost certain clarity, that what he hears is not the call of water fowl, but the howling of wolves.

And yet, strangely, it doesn’t strike fear in him like he thought it would, but more with a sense of almost curiosity. He’s uncertain whether it’s an isolated occurrence or if it should be a cause for worry.

Nonetheless, the haunting chant, fading and then coming back to hound the odd times of the clock, is enough to keep him from the very edge of dormancy for another good portion of the night.

 

~~~=(@)=~~~

 

In the eve of the next day, Daniel was quick to board the carriage, and as it made its way towards Brennenburg Castle up the hill, he listened to the trot of horse hooves over the pebbles and gravel of the forest path.

A haze of greenery passed by him as he leaned his head against the wood paneling, and the twists and turns of the path leading ever deeper into the forest made him feel like he was entering grounds forgotten to the world.

The morning sun flickered between the pine trees as the carriage approached the castle. A faint memory of reflections in the window pane repeated itself over and over.

In brief glimpses through the canopy, he saw how its large silhouette loomed ever closer, and Daniel didn’t know how much time had passed until he inattentively felt the carriage grind to a halt at the front of the massive gates.

The edifice was even more of an imposing marvel up close, its visage made almost entirely of colossal flagstones, and his eyes darted around trying to take it all in, the implications of such grandeur sinking in. He was in the presence of prestige which has spanned for generations. A royal legacy.

Hearing the outrider handling his suitcases in the back, Daniel idly watched the servants of the estate bustling around the courtyard.

Until he saw a pair of eyes watching him.

He suddenly raises his head off the perch of his palm and sits up straighter in his seat.

Frozen, in his thoughts and on the spot, he noticed that, from behind the massive wrought iron gates, this gray-pelted creature looked back with unsettling yellow eyes.

He didn’t dare tare his view away thinking it would disappear, that gaze thrumming against deeply-rooted instincts. The same self-preservation impulse that is used to the butterfly’s advantage when it put eyespots on its wings, or how some amphibians developed symmetrical circles on their backs.

Daniel is fixated at the sight of this large dog – wolf, his intellectual side corrected - sitting on the other side of the dark iron gates, and some part of his mind suspended in its relative eternity wondered why the people wandering through the courtyard did not take notice of it.

The puzzling grey-colored wolf, seemingly disinterested in him now, sat up and walked out of his view behind the high stone wall.

Before he could rationalize what he’d just seen, the outrider opened the door of the carriage. Promptly he disembarked and walking through the gates which have been opened to them, he quickly glanced around to where that animal might have gone to. Strange. Was it a ghostly apparition or a trick of the mind from lack of sleep?

Daniel is greeted by the estate’s staff, all clad in working uniforms and aprons. And there at the top of the stairs on the veranda stood who he undoubtedly could recognize as the lord of the manor.

The baron of Brennenburg himself.

 

~~~=(@)=~~~

 

His welcoming was gracious and the baron, who introduced himself as Alexander, and his servants were all dignified. And straight away, he noted, he was congratulated for arriving on such short notice.

Daniel did not expect for the nobleman to be so… advanced in his years, but even so, he still retained a very distinguished air about him. The foremost thing that grabbed his attention about the baron however was his eyes. A very light brown- no, a positively amber-like color. And then there was his voice. A deep powerful baritone that enchanted every word.

On his way to eastern Prussia, the few foreigners he tried to converse with in English either had very limited knowledge of it or had a very heavy german accent, but the baron’s grasp of the English language was unparalleled. Why even an ounce of an accent was all but gone.

He was escorted through the castle’s vast halls, and he was left in awe at the sight of it all. Upholstered furniture polished to a fine sheen, grand paintings, wide arched windows, and lavish carpeting greeted him. As he was led to his dorm however, he had to stop and ponder the very peculiar fountain in the back hall.

Unpacking his belongings in that superb guest room with a maid’s help, and while he let his mind wander, his interest piqued on something which didn’t occur to him at first. The more he thought about it, the more the darker tanned skin looked unusual for the nobleman. Normally such complexion was reserved for travelers and even field workers. And from what little bits he heard here and there about the baron, he’s well-known to be quite a recluse, so what did he do that hindered his skin from growing pale, something Daniel guessed would be customary for aristocrats? What kind of occupations yielded the nobleman that sun-kissed look?

Later, when he had settled in to his new surroundings, Daniel discussed with Alexander about his coming here to Prussian lands. The baron simply stated like before, that he can help him, and that he can tell him anything because he will believe it.

Alexander then declared not only his pageant for the supernatural but also his profound study and extended research on the matter. He assured that he’s the person in the best position to help the Englishman – after all, who else would even believe Daniel’s situation, much less take it seriously? And as for what the baron stood to gain out of this, it would sate his own burning pursuit for knowledge. But the Englishman reminded him about the men who fell victim to the curse, and urged caution: “…Is the pursuit for knowledge so important at such great a risk? Those men before… I fear for your life, sir.”

“Naturally there would be dire consequences for those who approach the matter without any familiarity of the topic. Like in the art of medicine, if the wrong cure or dose is prescribed, the patient will fall even further into illness. And precisely why my studies will help you combat this condition.”

Then the baron said something which sent inquisitive delight to Daniel’s inner explorer. “They may seem conflicting at first, Daniel, but when one seeks to delve further into both science and _magic_ ,” Alexander stressed the word “-and search for their hidden grains of truth, to understand their basic principles, the boundaries between them become ever more _blurred_.” The last word sounded like it was uttered by thunder incarnate, and that entire rhetoric was ennobled in the baron’s rich voice.

They then proceeded to stroll through the corridors discussing about other topics. Before, when they had first started the conversation and the nobleman talked about his focus on the supernatural, the cautious part of Daniel’s conscience had to wonder how much of the half-conceived stories he heard from villagers and the like were based on some sort of truth. But then of course the unknowledgeable would fear the unknown, and any oddity that was shown to them would be viewed with suspicion.

However, now that the more Alexander spoke, and Daniel in turn took the time to listen, to get to know the man, he steadily revealed his vast wisdom. And with its delivery streaked with loving metaphors and clever turns of phrases, soon that oddness seemed so unimportant.

Particularly in his current dreadful predicament, with Alexander seemingly more than willing to protect him, and with that very same unnatural lore, he simply didn’t have the argument or the heart to disdain the man. He felt increasingly certain he could trust his life in the baron’s hands.

While they both talked, Daniel would notice in the corner of his eye how the servants, who look plain in all regards, would pay them no mind while they went about their business, giving them ample space, almost to the point of actively avoiding them. Perhaps out of simple politeness for the lord’s privacy? Possibly. He’d heard examples of quirkiness back home in England. For example, some members of higher-society asking their staff to leave them be when they’re at the table because they didn’t like being watched when they ate or had their tea. And while on a culinary-inspired topic, he also found it odd that wherever the servants went, they would leave a subtle smell of spiced wine with a hint of clove and sage in their wake. Daniel is still not sure what to make of that.

Continuing, Alexander listed the preparations which were made for his arrival, such as readying the guest room with various deterring wards and diverting charms, the servants fortifying weaker areas in the castle and making room in the courtyard today for the hounds- Daniel did a double-take.

“Oh, you have dogs?” he asked when the baron off-handedly mentioned about them.

“Indeed I do. Come and have a look.” Alexander spoke as he led him towards the terrace doors at the periphery of the foyer. Over the stone balustrade, Daniel looked at the grass-covered courtyard below and saw them.

“Wolves?” he uttered, wholly perplexed.

“Not quite. Wolf-dogs, to be precise. And they are unique to Brennenburg’s dominion.” The baron stated, gesturing to the beings below.

From up the terrace Daniel counted nearly a dozen of them, all with various coat colors: from grey to brown to black and even white, and by what he could tell, all the dogs had pointed ears and wore collars. They were roaming around the castle grounds, either playfighting, chasing or grooming eachother, and some others were relaxing in the shade or chewing on cattle bones. All the while he heard barking and growling and sometimes a short howl. Daniel tried to see if he could spot the one he thought he saw earlier.

“Are they not beautiful?” Alexander murmured, interrupting his thoughts.

“How are they not feral?” and Daniel mentally scolded himself. “Uh, I mean, how do you manage to train them?” He quickly asked, ashamed of the lapse in his manners. His supposed cultured manners demanded of respectable British men such as himself from the high-classed and well-bred society of the United Kingdom.

“Time, dedication, and calculated selective breeding.” The baron said matter-of-factly but not at all in irritation. In fact, his chest swelled as he conveyed it with a sense of pride. “Generations worth of effort to combine the best traits from both lineages, resulting in this very distinct breed you see here. They are of noble blood and as such, have free reign over much of the castle.” Now turning to face him more fully, he continued. “Even so, it would have been undermining for my role as your guardian if I let you encounter them on the first day of your stay here. I eagerly await for tomorrow when you will greet on more suitable terms.”

At that, Daniel felt uneasy. Once again he looked down at the hounds, hearing the continued chorus of barks and snarling, catching glimpses of eye shine and flashes of ivory teeth.

As if sensing his insecurity, Alexander explained further. “I can’t be around all the time to aid you. By tomorrow you must learn how to cohabitate with them so in turn they would be accustomed to your presence, and maybe even accept you into the pack. After all, it would not do you any good if you’re mistaken for some skulking stranger.”

“Is it really that necessary?” he voiced his doubt. Alexander placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am not asking you to brave the curse alone because I know you cannot. But can you be brave enough to face some dogs?”

And Daniel had to admit, that yes. Compared to his ‘curse’, a pack of dogs doesn’t seem as intimidating. “I’ll try.” He uttered, eyes downcast. Another hand was placed on his other shoulder, making him raise his head to meet the baron’s gaze.

“ _Are_ you feeling confident enough? Can you _trust_ me to guide you in approaching the family?” he reiterated. Piercing amber eyes jolted him to attention, and squaring his shoulders, “Yes.” he firmly said, the baron’s voice giving him confidence.

With a smile on his lips, Alexander nodded. “It’s settled then.”

 

~~~=(@)=~~~

 

The following meals that day consisted of a lot of meat. A mouthwatering dish of veal basted in red wine with a side of diced giblets in a dressing of what Daniel could taste was made of boiled egg yolk and onions.

And for dinner, the first course was something the baron called ‘Goulaschsuppe’, which was tomato and beef soup spiced with paprika and garlic. And then an even more exotic fare for the Englishman, rolls of tender deer meat wrapped in strips of pheasant with a sour cream sauce garnish full of slices of various types of mushroom. Finally, a plate of caramelized bits of fowl meat all drizzled in honey for dessert. The notion that meat could be sweetened boggled his mind, but the result was exquisite.

Daniel savored every bite, the feast of lavish foreign flavors filling him with earthly pleasures and helped take his mind off his worries.

He’s told there will be meat for tomorrow’s breakfast as well, since it will help if he smelled more like a predator rather than a prey item, or as Alexander put it: “not be a lamb in the wolves’ den”.

Even among the day’s delights, Daniel felt somehow inadequate. All he was capable of doing lately was thinking and receiving, speaking less almost up to the point where he presumed that his mouth felt numb. He felt like he should be more active and receptive, but he was just so tired, entire weeks worth of potential rest drained from him. Already he had some ‘senior moments’ and gaffes in conversation, although the baron seemed unaffected by it. Along with restful slumber, he hoped it wouldn’t get any worse.

That evening Daniel wrote in his journal:

 

_**3rd August 1839** _

_I feel like I have fled the world and all its worries. Brennenburg is a majestic creation perched upon a forest-clad hill with towers reaching well above even the highest pine trees. Following the winding road leading to the gates gives the impression of discovering something forgotten, as if journeying with Marco Polo to the hidden Xanadu._

_Alexander, the baron, is a peculiar but gracious man. He seems well versed in worldly matters and is not at all-_

He thought at first for the sentence to be “not at all eccentric”, but pondering further about what he currently knew about the man, decided to add the ‘as’, the word seemingly highlighted in his head -

_-not at all as eccentric as I assumed. My room is exquisite and I am confident that no hotel for miles could even hope to match it._

As the sun sets on Brennenburg its fairy-tale varnish turns to an eerie gloom. Alexander's strange servants are never far away. They are a quiet lot and their behavior could only be described as skulking. Alexander seems pleased by my presence. As he puts it, it seems like I got here just in time.

To my surprise, I learnt that the baron is the owner of several half-wolf hybrids, and he seems to hold great pride in them. Tomorrow however, I will have to come in contact with these potentially dangerous hounds.

Alexander promises no harm would befall me provided I follow his lead precisely as instructed. Though I’ve only known him for a day, I can already tell the baron is sensible man and I know it’s ultimately for my protection.

Even so, I pray that my faith won’t be misplaced.

~~~=(@)=~~~


	2. Chapter 2

_**4th August 1839**  
  
I woke to the light of the afternoon the next day and for a moment I forgot where I was. The nightmares have withdrawn last night, and I realize how long it’s been since I’ve slept so peacefully. Praying for my good fortune to last, I went to meet Alexander in the parlor.  
  
As we drank our tea, Alexander began to tell me what he knew. It seems like the orb I found casts a long and dark shadow. He urged me to be prepared, for it is not only a powerful item, but a dangerous one. Simply by touching it you invoke the powers within and if you are too weak to control it, it will devour you. The shadow is a sluggish thing lagging behind the wielder, needing days or even weeks to catch up, killing anyone or anything in its path to reclaim the Orb.  
  
I said I didn't care about its powers and that I should throw it away. Alexander advised against this as I would still be a part of the path to the Orb and eventually suffer death. Having the Orb, I would at least have the chance to fight back when the time came. I asked Alexander what he meant when he said he could protect me and he answered that things can be done- but at a price.  
  
On the flip side, my rendezvous will occur in less then an hour after I write this.  
  
Wish me luck._  
  
  
~~~=(@)=~~~  
  
  
Daniel went downstairs to greet Alexander in the hall. After he managed to calm himself for what’s to come, the baron delivered him the rules he needed to know for now.  
  
“Now, Daniel. The first rule you should remember is: When greeting, do not make eye contact. That means a challenge in hound language. Second, let them smell you. Dogs greet one another by scent.” he said in a straightforward manner. “And the third and most important rule…” Alexander turned somber. “Never _ever_ , under any circumstances, should you run. That triggers their hunter instinct.” he spoke in a profoundly serious manner. “That should be sufficient for now. And keep in mind that we will start with the more approachable members of the pack.”  
  
Then he’s been told to stay still, a comforting hand laid on his shoulder, while the baron called out “You can let them in now!”  
  
A door opens at the end of the hall, and Daniel could see several masses of fur behind the maid’s dress before Alexander whistled and those entities scampered towards them, yelping and barking. The dogs happily met their master and immediately they went about sniffing the newcomer all over.  
  
Daniel convinced himself again how they could be entirely mistaken for wolves - elegant but intimidating.  
  
He kept his eyes aimed towards the baron’s ruffled collar, who was murmuring soft words towards the dogs. Very aware was he of the wet noses wafting warm exhales over his hands and the no-doubt toothed muzzles pressing on his legs. They were circling around him into a shag-coated barricade about as high as his hip. On one round-about he felt the shock of the coarse texture through his fingers – his hand flexes instinctively.  
  
He heard maybe two of them fussing about next to him - and a snarl. Alexander let out a firm shush, but - Oh, what he would’ve given to not have heard that…  
  
The baron kept speaking to them. Soothingly, resonant, scratching at napes with wrinkled fingers combing from ears to flanks. Alexander tells him he’s fine, that he’s doing splendidly. Daniel sees passing glimpses of eyes, and hears the brief growls of some of the hounds arguing with one another which were quickly silenced with a stern hush. Then a tongue grazes over his knuckles – he cringes. It sweeps over his digits, accompanied by looming wet hard points - he tries to keep his breathing leveled.  
  
Finally, the circle opens and they slowly back away, now interested in other things.  
  
“Excellent, Daniel.”  
  
He lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.  
  
With the hand still on his shoulder, Alexander leads the Englishman to the lounges. They get seated and Daniel leans back, now able to rest a little easier. With the worst passed by him he took a closer look at the dogs, all five of them, in their company. Goethe, Quixote, Strudel XI, Nina II, and Dante III, the baron told.  
  
Noises of barking and panting filled the room as they scampered around. There were the pointed ears and collars like he’d seen before. Their pelts varied from gray to black and white and brown, but now he could see how the puffed fur around their necks gave them an almost lion-like appearance. He also noted with bewilderment just how large they were, their paws the size of his fist.  
  
And those eyes. Blue, yellow, and beige, rimmed by faces with patterns evocative of war-paint, they stared right back at him, piercing gazes almost judging. Far from what he would have went in the wildflower fields to hunt rabbits with, he felt like he was the one being hunted.  
  
In the back of his mind he vowed that’s the absolute last thing he’d want to see in a dark hallway.  
  
The baron at his side stroked the fur of one dog which laid its head on his lap, and the brown-and-gray hound eagerly leaned in, a pleased sigh when the scruff of its neck was scratched.  
  
On all regards the hounds appeared nothing like the dogs from back home. Nothing like the wavy-coated terriers or the foxhounds with friendly faces framed by floppy ears. The closest he could compare them to were greyhounds and even that was far-off, their frames sleek and lean whilst these dogs are powerful and robust.  
  
Daniel never encountered a real wolf before other than hearing the ones in fairy tales, and he reckoned these half-bloods were the closest he was ever going to get to meeting one.  
  
“You may pet them now if you want. Just don’t let them hop onto the furniture. That’s where the lords are seated.” Alexander said towards him.  
  
Taking the offer, he tentatively placed a hand on one of the dogs crowding around him in eager curiosity. A brown-tinted one with a stretch of black fur on its back closed its eyes, relishing the feel of the scratching around its ears. And it wasn’t long before another dog, this one dressed in grey with hints of white, shimmied its way in to get a turn – its bushy tail wagged even more when Daniel scratched the long broad snout.  
  
Oscillating between paying attention to him and playing with one another, rolling on their sides and backs, pawing at eachother and mock-biting, every now and then one would come back to him to be petted some more before they left again. Right now the one with the dark grey–nearly black top side and white underbelly and muzzle sat next to him. Feeling somewhat more confident, Daniel’s hands kneaded the fur around the nape.  
  
Instantly as his side came the brown-colored wolfdog with the beige eyes, the one with the lighter colored areas which looked nearly orange.  
  
Tongue lolling, it bounced on its paws – and hopped its forelegs onto his knees, wet nose right in his face! For a second, Daniel panicked as his nose felt the warm and pungent breath, the weight those paws carried resting on his legs.  
  
A short but powerful sound, suspiciously like a ‘nein’. “Quixote, down!” the baron uttered.  
  
Obediently it stepped down and laid to rest next to them. Alexander then turned to the Englishman “You’ll have to excuse him. He tends to be the more energetic one in the pack.”  
  
A maid comes bringing tea and scones, setting them on the tray table.  
  
The dark grey and white dog remained and settled its head on Daniel’s knee, looking up at him with soft blue eyes. It is now he noticed the patch of white hair on its forehead which reminded Daniel of a star.  
  
“I see Nina has already warmed up to you. Usually Strudel is the more affectionate one.” The nobleman mused as he stirred the sugar in his tea. In the back of his mind, Daniel felt more at ease that they all had legitimate names. It’s somehow not as alienating.  
  
During dinner that evening the hounds all settled close to the table. Some even slept at their feet. And even though the dogs occasionally stared with longing at the table, they didn’t attempt to snatch anything. Alexander told him not to throw them scraps, no matter how tempting it was – instill awareness of the hierarchy, he said.  
  
Now a bit more relaxed in their presence and seeing them so obedient, Daniel felt a little foolish for his behavior earlier. A random line of thought led him to ask: “With so many expensive breakable belongings around, aren’t you worried they might knock them over?”  
  
The baron raised his eyebrows with a knowing smile “That is precisely the reason why I had ordered all potential fire hazards to be glued or bolted down.”  
  
~~~=(@)=~~~


	3. Chapter 3

Time passes, the days starting to blend in with each other, and before he knew it, Daniel had already spent almost two weeks at the castle, where he had blessedly found respite. Even though he kept half-expecting for things to turn on their heel, he had slept more restfully on the grounds, away from the influence of the Shadow.  
  
The thought had crossed his mind to give the orb to Alexander, but the baron requested that it should remain on his person to keep it safe. He’s told they would let its energy siphon only when they have need of it. So Daniel lets the orb stay wrapped in his traveling case for the time being.  
  
He took the time to explore the manor. There were numerous study rooms and parlors, but what caught his interest were the countless ‘stations’, as Alexander called them, found in some of the hallways, where bowls of water and food were provided for the hounds. Some on the other hand were stocked specifically with brooms and dustpans. The dogs are very well trained, he thought, if they could do their work in specific locations.  
  
He found servants usually hovering around these stations either to sweep up any messes or to refill the bowls. Every now and then he would see some other servants wandering the halls with opened books and muttering incantations, softly waving around wrapped batons of lit sage, letting the smoke of the smoldering herb permeate the rooms.  
  
The rooms smelling vaguely of sage, and with the smell of rosewater on him, Daniel flexed his shoulder-blades, content after a long relaxing bath in one of the lavish bottle-stacked washrooms.  
  
Soft key notes waft through the room as the baron stood at the pianoforte, his beloved wolf-hounds asleep round his legs. One or two were idly chewing on cattle bones, calmly paying him no mind. On top of the piano was an arrangement of pink Damascus Roses.  
  
Ah yes, the roses. That’s another peculiarity he found about the baron. Judging how a lot of the plants in the gardens were roses of all colors, he guesses Alexander holds a particular fondness for them.  
  
The gardens themselves, which housed a great number of herbs, mostly medicinal, had their own irrigation system. Water flowed from pipes and then trickled through grooves chiseled in the very masonry itself, before reaching carved stone basins and pots.  
  
And in the middle of the garden there was the drinking fountain, stocked with silver pitchers and chalices. The gurgling spout caught his attention most of all – much like the fountain in the back hall, this one was equally bizarre.  
  
A circle with a triad of what he recognized as astronomical symbols, all encompassing a face. A fleshy frown turned on its head – and it seemed to have a popped eye.  
  
He disregarded such decorative choices in favor of pondering how the castle managed to acquire drinkable water.  
  
Upon Daniel’s inquiry, the baron explained to him how the water meant for drinking was diverted from an underground spring and passed through filters, which are changed when needed. The coarser ones were nets of metal which caught debris like sticks and leaf-litter, and finer ones were meshes made from numerous layers of sand and charcoal. The water then passes into boiling tanks where it’s heated to eliminate any remaining impurities before being pumped up the pipes into holding tanks found in key locations around the castle, like the washrooms or fountains. Finally, the silverware found at the drinking fountains act to further purify the water.  
  
Daniel was evermore amazed how the castle of Brennenburg seemed to sustain itself. And then there’s the baron himself…  
  
Alexander von Brennenburg is indeed quite an enigma. When to others the passage of time has been unkind for them in neither mind nor body, the baron seemed untouched by common mortal bonds. He did not appear affected by ailments common to those of his age; able-bodied and mind abound with knowledge, he even still found time and the means to keep astounding animals.  
  
Someone capable and stalwart enough to tame not just one beast, but several. That’s an infallible confirmation of power, more potent than any title or riches, and it mesmerizes Daniel. It made him confident about relying on such capable hands.  
  
Like whenever they walked the corridors he counted on the baron’s aura of protection when the wolves crossed their path. Sometimes a hound would utter a low growl akin to distrust when he passes by, making his heart leap in his throat. Thank god for Alexander to sternly shush them.  
  
Daniel has met the rest of the pack by now. A total 23, all with wide variations of colors and temperament. Most of the dogs paid him no mind, choosing to watch from afar. Daniel however, was still getting used to the howling that went on a good hour of two on some nights.  
  
By coat color, a couple of them were entirely white, and there was even one or two which were black as night and with striking yellow eyes. The look he received from those shining yellow orbs framed by dark fur was most unsettling.  
  
However, any trepidation he felt around them was blunted upon seeing how quite a few of them silently asked for affection. They hardly ever eluded a chance to be scratched, though of course he only felt comfortable giving them attention when the baron was around – he felt safer under his watch. The hounds sometimes got rambunctious, shoving and tackling each other when playing, and this one time Daniel got nipped – not enough to draw blood but it still hurt. Of course they were only playing but he’s still shook up from that brief spike of pain.  
  
There were many occasions when he saw Alexander playing with them, either inside the castle or in the courtyards. They would openly present their underbellies so he can scratch them.  
  
More-so, he never tired of watching how the hounds followed the set of commands the baron’s baritone voice spoke in German. ‘Kommhier’ he’d shout, and they clamored from the ends of the far rooms to come and greet him, ‘Sitz’ and they sat on their hind legs. Alexander would then go through a list of names, saying ‘Sprechen’ after each one, prompting the mentioned wolf to bark. Wolfgang V, Sheeva, Macbeth, Beowulf IV, Engel X, Romulus VII…  
  
When that was done, the nobleman said ‘Platz’ and they made themselves room to lay down, ‘Bleib’ he’d say before he went with a bucket of chopped meat to each of them to place a treat before their noses, occasionally a ‘Nein’ if one attempts to sneak a bite…  
  
Finally, after Alexander stepped back to his spot in from of them all, putting down the bucket and wiping his hands with a cloth, he said ‘Voraus’. The hounds instantly dived for the meat set before them and happily chewed or made their way elsewhere with their reward to enjoy it in peace.  
  
Of all the interactions Daniel himself had with the hounds, there was one moment he found notable. He immediately envisioned a furry footstool when one dog laid to rest at his feet when he was reading in the parlor, so in the spur of the moment he kicked off his shoes to put his feet up and rub at its belly. To add to the whimsical setting, the dog even twitched its foot. Laughter bubbled up in him when the legs pedaled the more he rubbed his socked feet on the furry stomach.  
  
But then he laughed wholeheartedly when he ceased and the dog lifted its head, looking at him with incredulous eyes as if to ask ‘why did you stop?’ Oh, that was worthy of a picture.  
  
  
~~~=(@)=~~~  
  
  
Speaking of pictures, he went to explore the upper quarters of the castle. Brennenburg even had a foyer with entire hallways dedicated to its dogs. Numerous memorabilia lined the walls – paintings, engravings, painted china, scrolls of commemorative calligraphy in glass cases, tapestries, and more.  
  
There were solitary portraits, depictions of couples, charming pictures of fluffy puppies, and some illustrations with twins - such as the one painting with ‘Onyx and Opal’, as the plate under it wrote.  
  
All the paintings were labeled with names and dates. Sometimes there were just engraved nameplates which also included lovely quotes, like ‘Thy hope’s star, thy golden wings’ and such. Galileo von Konigsberg, Sultan IV de Barmherzig, Hugo die Wilde, Canis die Wilde…  
  
Daniel noticed quite a few had the ‘Wilde’ surname, meaning ‘wild’. Could that mean that there were some full-blooded wolves which integrated themselves into the pack at different points in time? He could only speculate.  
  
Larger paintings showed hunting scenes, the wolves conquering a great array of game, such as stags, boars, badgers, mountain goats, fowl, and foxes. Some of the images actually presented their lords on horseback. No doubt the baron’s ancestors.  
  
In this one picture this black-haired nobleman, wearing a doublet characteristic of centuries past, stood with a selection of dogs – it was subtle, but he could see Alexander’s resemblance to his predecessors.  
  
Another – and it is him. His features are younger, but it’s unmistakably Alexander. He sat on a plush lounge, his hounds settled all around him. One hand rubbed one dog’s ears and the other held…  
  
An orb.  
  
He was in possession of an orb as well? Then it explains how he recognized Daniel’s own relic, more-so how he explained to him the intricacies surrounding its manifestation. The prospect that he acquired one and managed to ban its wards while remaining alive and well gave Daniel hope.  
  
Back in the corridors, there were a surprising number of the porcelain vases and pots, each one having a painted tableau on its surface. One exceptionally long hallway presented a genealogical tree. There was even an antechamber of shelved catalogues which chronicle nearly every aspect of their lineages.  
  
Here it’s evident the baron’s and his family’s fondness bordered on obsession if Daniel could hardly find any depictions of the family members themselves. He’d actually asked him about his kin, whether he had any descendants, since Alexander seemed to be the sole owner present in the manor. He told they relocated to other parts of Europe and left it at that. No locations, no names. Sensing the reticence to disclose such information, Daniel thought it wise not to push his luck.  
  
Here and there taxidermy displays greeted him. Some superbly preserved and others somewhat worn by time.  
  
So the baron keeps their bodies after their passing?  
  
That notion jutted out in his mind. And rousing his awareness, drew those previously imperceptibles to the forefront of his consciousness.  
  
The engraved plates. Stone and metal plaques – more present in some corridors than in others, and he notices.  
  
The foyer was not only a memorial, but a mausoleum in itself. And all those porcelain pots, he realized, were in fact urns.  
  
And yet, for all that it was maybe a resting place, it seemed anything but bleak. All the depictions he’d seen were shown in a warm light. Memorized the individuals at the height of their lives, focusing on the things they have accomplished rather than lamenting their passing.  
  
Seized by their significance, he was mindful of any undue disrespect, viewing those chambers of the castle with a new sense of enlightenment.  
  
‘Xerxes I die Drachen’, its exploits inscribed with reverence, ‘Uma, Iusti Mater’, carved lovingly in cursive letters, ‘Icarus die Trittsichere, Jäger der Hirsche’, depicted running with deer…  
  
He read many of the epitaphs there, and then one caught his attention in particular.  
  
 _“Romulus II von Brennenburg – Worthy successor of Baldwin III de Warsaw and Ishta I von Galicia. Benevolent father of 5: Shatzi V, Remus II, Caesar I, Aurora I, and Edelweiss III von Brennenburg.”_  
  
There’s some more text about their patrimony before concluding with:  
  
 _“Unjustly assassinated upon a peasant’s pitchfork. May his malefactor be treated the same deed.”_  
  
Elsewhere, he found a painting, ‘Ursula IV die Wildshweintöter’, depicted with a felled boar at their feet. Its respective plaque had the closing lines:  
  
 _“Atrociously murdered upon a laborer’s log saw. Hell hath no wrath as a vile act returned.”_  
  
  
~~~=(@)=~~~


	4. Chapter 4

One day of his stay at the castle found Daniel discussing at length with Alexander about William Blake's controversial written work.  
  
It all started from a passing comment, and not only did Alexander get the reference but as it turns out, he had one of the original published prints of 'The Marriage of Heaven and Hell'.  
  
With the illustrated etched sheets laid open on the rounded sofa table, they reflected upon possible interpretations of the prose. One servant with a dustpan and broom was unobtrusively sweeping the floors around them.  
  
The commentary about the book itself led to a comparison with Dante Alighieri's "Divine Comedy", of which the baron also had an early publication present in his library.  
  
Both books present on the table, their minds performing acrobatics in finding parallels and allegories.  
  
It was then that the servant with the broom spoke up, prompting both of them to raise their heads from the heated discussion about the pages in front of them.  
  
The worker helpfully informed them that, paraphrasing, Dante couldn't have written it. Because if he went to Hell it means he died. And how could a dead man write a book?  
  
Daniel remained silent. Mostly because he was trying to comprehend if he truly heard what he just listened to.  
  
The man looked past his prime, his features coarse and unpleasant. Clean, yes, and wearing simple working clothes, but his face's strewn with unflattering lines. He spoke with a slight Germanic accent compared to the rest of the workers who spoke only German.  
  
Alexander then calmly said: "Interesting hypothesis. You seem to be quite versed in philosophy, elucidate me this – Who was Socrates in Ancient Greece?"  
  
"Oh, Greece! Well, sire, he was the blind prophet, of course." the servant said, smiling.  
  
"Titillating. Now, were the Iliad and the Odyssey originally written in Latin?"  
  
"Well of course, milord. Why wouldn't they? All the better known writings from ancient times were written in Latin, everybody knows that."  
  
"But are the Iliad and the Odyssey not Greek epics?"  
  
"That's because the Greeks were conquered by the Romans, and the Romans spoke Latin, sire."  
  
"How astute! Cannot argue with that, I'm sure. May I ask, who was Plato's student?"  
  
At this, the man was unable to come up with an answer. His mouth stood open while he scratched at his whiskered chin, mind trying to grasp at any recollection, broom handle forgotten in one hand.  
  
Alexander didn't seem angered at all, grinning with his eyebrows arched and waving his hand in encouragement, subtly articulating 'Aaarrr…'.  
  
"Archimedes!" the worker abruptly spoke, face alight and seemingly proud of his inherit wisdom.  
  
Daniel was trying very hard not laugh. He couldn't believe this. It was rapidly becoming more ridiculous with every absurdity that was spouting out of the man's mouth. And Alexander kept grinning and egging him on, using this blatantly condescending tone. And to top it all off, the fool was completely oblivious to all of it! Daniel tried to keep a straight face, covering his mouth with his palm.  
  
"What other historical figures do you like, my good man?" the baron continued.  
  
"Beowulf, sir."  
  
Snrk!  
  
"The fictional character?"  
  
"No, I meant the dragon slayer."  
  
Snnnkhkhkhk…  
  
"How ghastly. I was not aware dragons even exist."  
  
"Well, not anymore, thanks to him."  
  
"I am sure we should all feel thankful. Do you have any favorite musicians?"  
  
"That would be Rembrandt."  
  
"The painter." Alexander deadpanned.  
  
Daniel snorts in his palm and then outright guffaws! Oh, he couldn't handle it anymore! He gasps, wheezes, and laughs even harder.  
  
And the man? He was about to speak to the baron but halted midway, looking at the Englishman with his mouth still open, all mystified at his reaction.  
  
"Thank you, good servant. That was much more entertaining!" Alexander clapped, finally letting out his own laugh. The clod just looked on dumbly with his mouth comically agape. Good lord, he still didn't get it! Daniel laughed harder, slapping his thigh.  
  
"My good man…" Alexander grabbed the servant's attention. Jaw's still ajar. "If you had kept silent, you would have remained a philosopher. Now here are some words of wisdom for you to ponder on: 'The pack mule shall criticize not the nightingale's singing' – So how about you don't dabble in things which are far above your head and go back to the work you are paid to do, hmm?" The baron pointedly motioned towards the broom the man was still holding.  
  
Jaw clicking shut as if just waking up, the servant scrambled for his dustpan and broom, stuttering an apology as he shuffled his way out.  
  
Daniel managed to compose himself, breathing heavily. By his side, Alexander leaned his head back in his armchair, letting out a long sigh. "Oh woe to be a wise man trapped among imbeciles." he lamented before he turned his head to look at him.  
  
"I am ever grateful you're here at castle Brennenburg, Daniel. You are someone I can actually talk to. There is just no chance of an intelligent conversation with these simpletons. What's worse is that some would not even admit their faults."  
  
"Babblers, the lot of them." Alexander continued, his hand opening and closing to mimic a duck. He then paused to let out another long-suffering sigh. "…But, simple needs for simple minds, I guess. I fathom there is a benefit in the bliss of ignorance."  
  
  
~~~=(@)=~~~  
  
  
In the couple of weeks Daniel remained in the castle, he had on occasion attempted to converse with the servants. However, most of them didn't speak English and the few who did spoke it very poorly, quickly running out of conversation topics. He tried talking to the janitors, the maids, the laundryladies, the gardener, the cooks, and even the staples tenant, but try as he might, Daniel couldn't find anyone besides the baron to talk with.  
  
Today he tried the kitchens again. It was most charming, with counters occupying every wall, and the large table in the middle where he usually saw them cutting meat to feed the dogs with. There was a large stone oven, ceiling racks with pots and pans, an abundant spice rack, and suspended dried herbs at ever corner.  
  
A cook was already there preparing an array of stock flesh on the cutting board when he walked in. They were hunched over a tub, their back turned to him, and when he was about to say hello, they lifted something from the tub to plop onto the cutting board.  
  
He gasped. Clutched at his chest.  
  
It was a quadruped.  
  
Skinned.  
  
The carcass was completely void of its hide. From the crown of its head all the way to the cusp of its hooves.  
  
That hideous visage – he distantly recognized it's that of a lamb.  
  
What was once feeble gait clad in the softest of fleece now resided red carnage. The head at the end of rawboned vertebrae bared its clamp of ivory tips, and lidless eyes which stared back at him.  
  
"Was?"  
  
The call pulled him out of his momentary stupor. The man eyed him with mild concern – or was that mild annoyance? Tall, and with a plume of dark brown hair and beard, he wore the customary brown apron.  
  
"N-nothing. I'm alright." Daniel said, straightening up. He tried to view it objectively - it's just food meant for the table, he tried to rationalize. But try as he might, it would have been easier to see it as that if it didn't have a face. "So, who are you and what do you do?" he attempted.  
  
"Meine beruf. Ich bin ein fleischer." The man said in a gruff voice as he went back to what he was doing, and spoke no more. Besides the language barrier, the man seemed withdrawn, focusing on his work.  
  
The cutting block shook with each thunderous whack as metal met bone met wood as the butcher efficiently hacked at the petite limbs with a wicked cleaver.  
  
Daniel got all the hints he needed to know that there wouldn't be much of a conversation, so he left. "Alright, I'll just leave you to your work, then."  
  
"Tschüs." He barely heard the butcher mutter.  
  
The lamb waved him goodbye. The head bobbed every time its vertebrae were segmented at every loud chop. Its tongue lolled on the side with sickening squelches.  
  
  
~~~=(@)=~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The discussion with the servant at the start is a reference to a dialogue from the No One Lives Forever 1 game. Also, don’t Google ‘lamb head’ unless you’ve got a strong stomach. D:


	5. Chapter 5

Later that same day, when the Englishman walked the corridors it was with one of the dogs. Nina, the one with the star on her forehead and the tuft of white fur just under the collar, was pretty much the only one of the hounds he felt safe with.  
  
She walked by his side, him lightly combing his hand in the dark fur of her nape, occasionally hooking a finger into the collar whenever he felt unsure.  
  
Daniel faintly heard cheering, and going to investigate, he increasingly felt the smell of wine along with a hint of clove. With Nina’s coat brushing against his side as he made it to the kitchens, he encountered a good number if not all of the servants there, and they were clearly celebrating.  
  
There was merriment all around, the room filled with the sounds of voices and clinking mugs of ale. The centerpiece was this huge simmering pot where the workers poured themselves and passed around beer steins full of wine.  
  
He’s greeted and one of the servants, smelling of wine and clove, with a whiff of sage, shoves a stein of hot wine in his hands, slurring something in German he couldn’t understand. He politely declined the drink.  
  
It was then that the baron came into the kitchens, glad to have found him, telling him dinner was ready soon. Daniel made his way to join him, Nina close on his heels. Alexander turned to convey something to those gathered there, their steins raising and cheering in response, before both of them made their way out and left them to their party.  
  
“So, what’s the reason for the celebration?” Daniel asked, rubbing the fur on the dog’s neck.  
  
“It’s a momentous occasion today, Daniel. You see, Shatzi just had puppies.” Alexander said. “You can come and see them after the celebratory feast.” he added in response to his keen expression.  
  
The mother wolf herself, of course, already received the leanest, most tender lamb meat. The nobleman heartily conveyed to him how their feast’s main event will be a time-honored and sublime dish of Cockentrice. A banquet made to resemble mythical beasts of olden times’ fancy, he explained to the Englishman’s tentative question. Finally, the servants received a couple of days off, which they welcomed with some much-loved Glutwein, or spiced wine as it’s called.  
  
Daniel followed Alexander to the wine cellar, Nina having wandered off elsewhere. The baron was looking for a bottle to go with their dinner.  
  
Among the graph of the cellar layout and the mysteriously locked door, the Englishman regarded the shelves of rose petal jam stored there, and his mouth watered. Daniel had developed a fondness for those jams. He requested some every breakfast, they were so good.  
  
From the various wine bottles there, some with brightly-colored labels and covers, he picked out one which caught his eye. Its cover had a heraldic motif which included ribbons colored with stripes arranged in a peculiar pattern - black, yellow, red, yellow, and black again. He set it back and picked out another one.  
  
“What about this one?” he asked, holding aloft a wine bottle which had a yellow-and-black colored label. The pattern vaguely reminded him of a hornet.  
  
Alexander turned to look and swiftly snatches the wine from his hand. “No, Daniel! …not this one.” He said before setting it back. “Choosing a Cabernet Franc is just misguided. Such a festivity calls for something more like a… Merlot.” he suggested, picking a wine with an aged, yellowed cover which had a blazon etched in black and white.  
  
Startled by the baron’s heated flash, Daniel excused his inexperience, for he was not as versed in wines as he.  
  
Dinner itself was… interesting. After a beef tripe stew seasoned with garlic and vinegar, the much-anticipated Cockentrice was finally revealed.  
  
It was roast animal halves… sown together. On the plate there was the top part of a rabbit sown to the bottom half of a chicken and the upper half of a chicken fused with the lower half of a rabbit. The sight baffled him. So this is what it meant by resembling mythical beasts. The fact that the concept of the dish is as old as the dark ages made a lot more sense now.  
  
Though it looked odd, it was finely cooked and tasted superb, with selected seasonings, stuffing, and garnish. He was also pleased to find that a plate on the side had black pudding – something the Englishman was entirely familiar with. The baron called it ‘blutwurst’, but no matter. The feast was concluded with ‘apfelstrudel’, meaning apple pie.  
  
  
~~~=(@)=~~~  
  
  
Every day the Englishman wrote in his journal, jotting down any oddity he felt was significant. The gardens, the memorial foyer, strange Prussian customs, why he even scribbled about the cuisine he enjoyed at the castle. And often he sighted. He missed Hazel. He wished his little sister could be here to experience it all.  
  
Not the predicament with the Shadow, of course - heavens no. He wished she could enjoy all the strange and wondrous things of visiting a different country. Something better than being bedridden in a hospital.  
  
And about the Shadow, Daniel asked again if they could do something about the orb. Do something to dispel that constant sense of dread which always remained at the edge of his mind and bearing over his shoulders, leaving him unable to truly enjoy his visit. And again, the baron urged him patience. The time to act shall come when it comes.  
  
Through all the time spent at Brennenburg, the hounds still unnerved him. Oftentimes when he went through the castle, always with someone else, he would glance behind and see them looking straight back.  
  
One wolf would be in the other end of a room when he’d pass a doorway, and when he’d enter the next room from there, he would look back – and it would be right there in the doorway, never far behind. It would send phantom nips across his back.  
  
And there was this one time which truly put him on edge.  
  
They both witnessed one of the wolf-dogs carrying a dead rat in its mouth. He heard Alexander curse, hurriedly stomping towards the culprit. He followed suit.  
  
Seeing them approach, particularly with such vitriol from the baron, the grey-pelted hound backed away, until some others in the room got up and ceased chewing the ever-present and prized cattle bones. They snarled and barked, cutting off its path and making it freeze on the spot.  
  
Alexander’s voice lowered to a threatening rumble, demanding Rothschild to drop it.  
  
The hound actually growled, refusing to relinquish its hold. The baron grabbed the other end of the dead rat. He did not tug, and he only glared down at the dog.  
  
Rothschild snarled, showing teeth and red gums, brow creasing venomously.  
  
Daniel’s heart leaped in his throat. With trepidation he was awaiting an accident. He honestly thought the hound was prepared to rend flesh.  
  
The other dogs continued to bark, as if insisting their comrade to listen.  
  
Alexander maintained the staring match.  
  
The tension was palpable.  
  
Rothschild let go.  
  
The rat carcass dangled in the baron’s grip. “Guter knabe.” he said, stroking the dog’s nape.  
  
And just like that, the tension evaporated. The wolves ceased their snarling, docile once more. Once more the baron proved his potent brand of power.  
  
The way Alexander instilled obedience, and with such seemingly simple gestures, didn’t cease to amaze. Daniel continues to wonder the effectiveness of his technique, whether it somehow borders on some… supernatural influence.  
  
After the encounter, the nobleman relayed to him another rule: Only after Daniel had firmly proved and asserted his dominance, could he attempt to stare the dogs down into submission.  
  
  
~~~=(@)=~~~


	6. Chapter 6

One early morning, the baron came to his room, asking if he would join him in the upcoming hunt.  
  
Alexander suggested that while the Shadow was at bay, he’d do something else than stay inside the castle all day long, and lord knows some excitement would perk him up a bit. He outlined that they will be on horseback while the hounds accompany them. Intrigued, Daniel couldn’t refuse the offer.  
  
Having decided that he’s coming, Alexander calls for a servant to prepare for him as well. After Daniel had breakfast, the servant brought him the garb he would need.  
  
He was half-expecting a red jacket, white pants and black riding cap, since he long envisioned participating in foxhunts back home in Britain. But of course he received a different outcome. The jacket was dark blue and the pants were this confusing fusion of textile and leather with lots of straps and buckles.  
  
Right from the start, the servant corrected him, switching the short socks he had on with much longer ones which were tucked neatly under the pant legs. Daniel spent a good while trying to get into his outfit, the servant who was aiding him making sure the straps at the back made the waist-high pants fit snugly over the cotton undershirt. The buckles were constantly readjusted, including the ones above his knees and those near his ankles, so the garment fit him just right, before putting on the tailed horse-riding jacket.  
  
Good lord, it felt like he was going into battle! In the end, there was some bunching around the hips and thighs, but he had to admit, the form-fitting gear felt wholly secure.  
  
He went to the stables, now all decked out, with jackboots, riding gloves, a mauve scarf and hat, and he had his hair tied back in a short ponytail.  
  
Alexander was already there, and dressed quite similarly. His chosen form-fitting pants were made entirely out of leather, with rose embroidery and extra padding trimmed in key places. The thick hide looked like it could endure a lot of abuse and it seems it had indeed. Prolonged use and numerous stains made the leather look like dark marble, and it was obvious those leggings were meant for serious work and not just for show.  
  
Over his own hunting jacket he wore a worn maroon shoulder cape. He had his hair tied back and wore a simple hat the same shade of maroon as his cloak. The hat reminded him of a flat-topped kepi but without the brim, and with a feathered brooch on the side. The gold piece displayed the Order of the Black Eagle insignia, and the green iridescence of the long black rooster feathers were highlighted by the spots of the guinea fowl feathers. He also wore long-cuffed leather riding gloves and a hip flask at his belt.  
  
The baron told him the staples tenant will show him his horse. “She can’t run quite as fast, but she’s more docile.” he added.  
  
Daniel cooed as he lightly stroked its snout. It was brown with white legs and a white stripe running down its nose. Alexander’s steed was a dapple grey one which had its tail plaited at the base.  
  
Both of them prepared and with the wolves assembled, they moved out into the crisp air of the morning.  
  
The forest came alive with the sound of baying hounds.  
  
  
~~~=(@)=~~~  
  
  
It was in the light of the early noon when they reached a small meadow in the middle of the forest.  
  
The Englishman couldn’t help but bask in the sunlight there. He almost felt like he could leave his worries behind him.  
  
Alexander on the other hand was looking at the ground intently while he made his horse follow some wolves’ cue. They were actively sniffing the ground, looking for trails.  
  
It was then he was reminded of a question he’d been meaning to ask, and chose his words carefully. “What about the villages? Do you not worry they might mistake the dogs for feral wolves?”  
  
The baron turned to him. “The surrounding forests are private property of the estate. So in a sense, the forest belongs to the hounds. Since Brennenburg’s ancestry, the peasantry is forbidden to attack any wolf, and in fact recompensed to not practice hunting or lay traps for any reason in these forests.”  
  
Daniel paused for a moment. “What if there was a misunderstanding and they had to protect their livestock?”  
  
Alexander turned somber. “They should know the risks. If they insist on staying in the shadow of castle Brennenburg, they must abide by its rules.”  
  
But before the subject could be elaborated further, their attention was drawn back to the dogs.  
  
They’ve found something.  
  
This patch of the forest had shallow muddy trenches among the leaf-litter, and they were riddled with prints. The wolf-dogs were eagerly sniffing all that lay exposed to the air.  
  
The footmarks reminded Daniel of goat or sheep prints. So maybe it’s a deer?  
  
“Hmm. Unmistakably a boar. And a large one, at that.” Alexander murmured audibly.  
  
Oh. The baron continued to speak while he directed towards the ground from atop his horse, the dogs sniffing the appointed spot.  
  
“Next to this tree here. See how it rooted the soil to get at the tuberous roots and fungi? The mud here is glistening wet and means this trail is fresh.” He then reached for the pack next to his hip flask. What he pulled out was this peculiar utensil which vaguely reminded him of a blowing horn.  
  
Indeed, Alexander raised it to his mouth. But the sound was unlike anything he ever heard.  
  
The brass hunting horn emitted a deep and powerful bellow akin to a bull. It steadily resonated, reaching behind his collarbone and rumbling to his very core. Daniel stood shaken, the hairs at the back of his neck standing up.  
  
At once, the wolves howled and traced their paths through the forest.  
  
  
~~~=(@)=~~~  
  
  
It felt like an eternity had passed. Just following the hounds on horseback as they searched for their quarry. The only sounds were that of leaf-litter being trampled under hooves and paws.  
  
And then all of a sudden, barking and howling echoed though the trees. What dogs they could see hastened towards the ruckus, and Alexander urged him to keep up as he rode his horse swiftly through the woods.  
  
Daniel followed as fast as he could.  
  
His heart beat faster.  
  
Could it be what they were stalking for so long?  
  
The barking seemed to be getting louder, and mist the cacophony of growls came the piercing squeal.  
  
And then finally, he saw.  
  
The wolf-dogs have tackled their target. This large boar, its dark pelt at the epicenter of the mounds of gnashing fur, sounded its grotesque squeals over the hounds’ snarls.  
  
Daniel could only watch as the dogs strained to overpower it, teeth trying to grapple onto the tough hide. Some went for the hindquarters to rend flesh, instilling pain and restraining their victim. Alexander held back his horse and kept shouting to them orders he couldn’t understand.  
  
Jaws clamped over the legs, puncturing the skin and tugging by the very tendons.  
  
The lacerations at the beast’s snout coated its face red.  
  
Its almighty shrieks rang through the forest.  
  
And without warning, the baron jumps off his horse and runs towards the brawl, whipping out a wicked dagger.  
  
Joining the wolves, he tackled the dark hide, grabbing hold of a tusk. But the boar bucked harder in an attempt to kick him off.  
  
He sinks the dagger into its throat.  
  
The wails became even louder than thought possible before they’re quickly reduced to wet gurgling.  
  
Alexander wrenched the blade even deeper, puncturing airways.  
  
Slit its neck open, granting swift death.  
  
…  
  
The wild boar went limp, letting out one last dank wheeze.  
  
Daniel stood dumbstruck. Did he truly witness what he’d seen?  
  
The baron called for him to assist, rising to his feet as the dogs stepped back, letting go of their holds on the carcass.  
  
And snapping out of his daze, he quickly got off his horse.  
  
But when he made the move to approach, the hounds blocked his path.  
  
They snarled, flashing bloody jaws at him. Daniel froze in his tracks, heart leaping into his throat as he stepped back. They staked heir claim, daring him to approach any further, and he could see the dark bristle hairs stuck between gleaming fangs.  
  
Alexander sternly shushed them, ordering them in German to stand down, and bridged the gap so he could approach. Daniel squashed the prickling lump in his chest, trying to show that he won’t let them deter him.  
  
There was a flicker of remorse for the cooling body, as it is one thing to speak of an act and an entirely different one to be confronted with it. In respect however, the pig put up a good fight.  
  
The growing puddle of red staining the earth around their feet, Alexander tells him to hold the head steady as he worked on chipping away at the skull to remove the tusks.  
  
The wolf-dogs silently stood guard at a distance around them.  
  
He realized then.  
  
He couldn’t hear any songbirds at all.  
  
In the relative quiet, Daniel contemplated. Baron Alexander felled a boar. He was able to take down a large feral beast which could easily kill a man. It sounded superficial. Accurately, with or without the dog’s aid, Alexander’s elderly and seemingly withered appearance belied what he was capable of. Others his age would withdraw into placidity, engaging in activities which no longer crossed their own circles of comfort.  
  
But Alexander was different. He did not gingerly ease off the saddle, he did not meander towards the brawl, he did not let the hounds finish the fight for him. He went out of his way to rise up to challenges and defeat a stronger adversary.  
  
The boar could have jerked its head up and speared him with a tusk.  
It could have rolled and pinned him under its weight.  
The dogs in their frenzy could have bitten him by mistake.  
Or the dogs’ grip could have slipped and the wild pig could have easily turned on him.  
  
Any number of possible unfortunate outcomes, yet he actively risked his health, maybe even life.  
  
The baron pocketed the trophies and told him to help turn the body around. Daniel grabbed the limbs on one side and, 1, 2, 3, easy does it, they shifted the prize on its back.  
  
Alexander then made incisions from crotch to gizzard and on the underside of the limbs. He set the knife away before slipping off his gloves and rolling up his sleeves, urging the Englishman to do the same.  
  
They proceeded to skin the wild boar, back to front, systematically inching their way along the body. Although they sometimes utilized knives, they mainly used their fingers, digging thumbs under the flap of skin to seamlessly remove the hide. Daniel focused on the task, the drying blood beginning to itch over his wrists.  
  
Daniel was shook up by the gruesome hunt, no doubt about it. But more than that, he was silently in awe.  
  
Daniel envisioned himself attending a hunt. Naturally, what spry young man wouldn’t appreciate the satisfying trepidation of such a sport? He had scenarios in his mind of how it could play out.  
  
But this was nothing like being at the calm impersonal end of a rifle and taking out a fox from far away. This was up close and personal, right to the mad nucleus of the violence. By comparison, it made the rifle seem like the coward’s choice.  
  
Unlike how he ever thought it would be like, of calmly stalking ever closer with firearm at the ready, this event far surpassed any expectation – just witnessing it, he still felt the quieting buzzing from the rush of adrenalin.  
  
They pulled off the last of the hide, revealing the still-red flesh.  
  
Alexander folded the skin before he cut the boar again, scraping off layers of fat and digging the dagger into its back.  
  
He cut out select shreds of tenderloin meat and handed him one. “Eat.”  
  
…What?  
  
Raw? Uncooked?  
  
Daniel balked at the thought and refused the offer. “No. I really couldn’t.”  
  
Alexander, with slice of flesh still in his blood-soaked hand, insisted. “They will regard you as higher rank if you do this.”  
  
At the risk of serious ailment?  
  
“I have a tonic you can use when we get back. Don’t worry.” The baron added to assure him before he could voice his concern.  
  
N-no. He still couldn’t pluck up the courage to take it.  
  
Unyielding, the baron tsked, impatience becoming evident in his deep voice. “Daniel. the Alfas of the pack always eat first.” he said firmly. He continued with a deepening tone, almost a warning.  
  
“To prove your authority and earn their respect, You. Must. Eat.”  
  
He punctuated the words, a seething fiery glare in his amber eyes.  
  
Upon seeing that ominous flicker, a tremor ran through him, compelling him to obey the demand.  
  
Offering now in hand, he looked at how diluted fluid still dripped from it. And he looked around. At the hounds standing guard against any approaching wild beasts who could attempt to trespass.  
  
Many of them, ears perked straight up, black-brown-and-white war-paint smeared with sharp red, looked back at him. Awaiting Daniel’s move. Some cushioned their heads on their paws, silently pleading, the longing for fresh meat clear on their faces.  
  
But he held the foremost share of the spoils. And they would not relish their work until he’d been sated.  
  
Strengthening his resolve, he closed his eyes and held his breath, sinking his teeth into it.  
  
He tried to tear a piece but the meat was too tough. And the first taste made him want to wretch, but he stifled the sensation and chewed what he could. Next to him, Alexander calmly chewed his portion.  
  
It was a far cry from the leisured cattle on a ranch. This was firm tempered muscle, a palpable allusion to the worked iron of a blacksmith’s. He eventually got accustomed to the tang.  
  
The meat, around the blood and greasy fat, was though and hard to chew.  
  
But he could smell, even taste the forest itself.  
  
He could sense the mild nuance of the nuts, the berries, acorns and pinecones, and the freshness of evergreens.  
  
When he finally downed the atypical tidbit did they step away from the carcass, Alexander carrying the boar skin under his arm. And at his order did the wolves finally have their feast, tearing and gnashing at the moist flesh.  
  
Lips stained, Daniel walked back to the waiting horses, facing away from the carnage and the most vicious, ungodliest sounds ever.  
  
  
~~~=(@)=~~~


	7. Chapter 7

He felt it eventually by the time they made it back in the castle. The foreshadowing of how his insides will churn and protest. Only a slight ache now, but he knew it would become worse.  
  
They were in the kitchen, the first place they went upon conclusion of the hunt, and now Daniel stood on a barrel while leaning on the wall, hands clutching his sides.  
  
Alexander was busy working on the concoction at hand, the cook present there bringing the ingredients the baron requested of her the moment they arrived.  
  
In the small engraved silver pot he poured measured spoonfuls of a number of aromatic distilled spirits. Prune brandy, vodka, bit of gin, cognac, and strong apple cider - he heard him murmur. He let them heat and put a silver rosary in the pot, the end of the chain hanging over the edge. Alexander added a dab of vinegar and the freshly crushed garlic the cook handed to him, then a squeeze of lemon juice.  
  
He watched as the baron stirred the contents with the chain while he muttered under his breath, before removing the silver and adding powdered charcoal into the pot, stirring some more.  
  
Finally, Alexander poured the brew in two small cups, and handed one to Daniel.  
  
“Zum Wohl.” Alexander cheered as he lightly clinked their glasses.  
  
Daniel thanked in return, quickly following suit as they doused the mix in one gulp.  
  
He sputtered and breathed out heavily, unsure if he should’ve or shouldn’t have drank it all in one go, the tonic putting hair on his tongue and setting his gullet on fire. It’s as if he swallowed rubbing alcohol. His already aching stomach writhed, offended by the strong kick and nagging at him to heave, but he squashed that feeling and breathed deep.  
  
The remaining grit of charcoal swirled under his tongue, grinding between his molars. And distantly he could feel his legs flooding with warmth.  
  
Daniel is escorted back to his chambers. He’s told the tonic will curb the worst of the food poisoning, but he will still need the rest.  
  
And not a moment too soon, as he feels the effects rush to his head and warming up his extremities. He barely got his gown on before he collapsed into the sheets. And there he bundled up and rode out the daze with hints of nausea in his sleep.  
  
  
~~~=(@)=~~~  
  
  
In the haze of his partially awake state he could feel a presence. Groggily, he turned in the tangle of his sheets and opened his eyes.  
  
It was a maid carrying a tray of bread and tea. She bid him good day in that foreign tongue as she placed the tray on the nightstand. “Deutsche kamille für lhre bauch. …Für ‘shtomach’, sir.” she carefully pronounced, the word laced with the heavy accent. He gladly thanked the service as he shifted to lean back in the headboard, taking the cup of tea she poured for him.  
  
Right away he felt the refreshing bite of mint, and then the taste of raspberries and blackberries, all upon a basis of chamomile. The infusion was sweetened with honey.  
  
Indeed, the tonic from earlier had done its work and he felt much better now. He relished the tea and the loaf of plain bread, knowing it will help with his remaining nausea.  
  
By evening, all trace of illness had receded and he went about the castle as he pleased once again. Remarkable. He was in good health! And in just under a day!  
  
This prompted him to once again ponder his host’s use of sorcery. Increasingly he questioned the villagers’ claims that the baron dabbled into the unholy, for he had seen evidence which proved the contrary.  
  
He discerned no change when Alexander walks in the sunlight, his reflection appears in mirrors and with no abnormalities, he had seen him in contact with silver on a regular basis, and the nobleman even enjoys garlic in his food.  
  
Why this one time when they strolled on the battlements of the castle, just listening to the wolves howl, the moon was completely full and the baron remained unchanged.  
  
Plainly, he simply couldn’t be some supernatural being - merely a man who has widened knowledge of the machinations of the world, and is misjudged for it.  
  
  
~~~=(@)=~~~  
  
  
Tucked in for the night, he idly scratched his hand over Nina’s ears. Star-shaped tuft of white hairs contrasting on the dark grey fur, she laid her head on the edge of the mattress, as she had done many nights before.  
  
Out of all the hounds, Nina had become his favorite. The sweet dog was a calming presence which helped him sleep through his night anxieties, so Daniel let her stay in his room every night now. Tucked in the sheets and with his arm over the side so he could reach where she rested on the carpet, he would always smooth over the fur on her back and let her lick his hand, dispelling his lingering night terrors and eventually lulling him to slumber. Afterward she would always be the first there to greet him in the morning.  
  
Half asleep, he aimlessly listened to Alexander how he wandered through his study in the next room while Nina kept nuzzling his hand. The baron often worked late into the night, well beyond after Daniel had snuffed the lantern at his bedside.  
  
Listening long enough, he could hear him pacing from one end of the room to the other. Nina’s cold nose rubs into his palm and he playfully gives the wet tip a pinch, to which she lightly nips his fingertips. Chuckling, he scratches her chin, to which she gladly leaned in to be petted.  
  
The floorboards from above creaked in time with footsteps. Must’ve gone upstairs to get something. The footfalls went from one end to the other, and in the ungodly hours of the night they went on like that. It was getting distracting, and he had to wonder what drove him to unrest so late in the night.  
  
The noise kept him awake. With his eyes still closed, he became aware on the very dark room, and as ever, slowly the irrepressible conjurations snaked into his psyche. Tugged at his insecurities, made his jaw strain against his teeth.  
  
Letting out a heavy sigh, he reached for the lantern at his bedside and lit it. The wick of oil illuminated the room just as the floorboards above his bed creaked.  
  
He flopped back in the mattress to face the canopy above him.  
  
.  
.  
.  
  
He froze.  
…  
  
And stared.  
  
A sea of red.  
  
He could not move as he gaped at the… _thing._  
  
A grotesque blend of flesh woven into the canopy. It heaved, making the wooden beams it clung to creak wickedly.  
  
A brew of snatched bodies laced the pulsing moist tissue. A morbid allusion to perversions of the flesh, the sinew molding loving clay, squelching sickeningly together as it _breathed_. Visual, _auditory_ profanities.  
  
Front and center, a twisted body, chest split open like jaws, exposing innards and pulsing organs and protruding splintered bones and fur and glassy eyes which looked both at him and at nothing, weeping a single drop of blood.  
  
Drip.  
  
His entire body gave a single shudder as it struck his forehead. Slick, wet confirmation of its very real presence. His lungs sucked quick shallow breaths. He couldn’t move as he fixated with widening eyes, stretched wide under the sheets, paralyzed.  
  
Lidless eyes stood vacant.  
  
And at their apex…  
  
A single white tuft of fur the shape of a star.  
  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
  
Lick.  
  
.  
.  
.  
  
It seized him before he could recoil!  
  
It latched onto his arm! It’s pulling him in!  
  
He screamed. He grapples onto the bed and struggles to get free, but the thing strains to pull him under. He tries to resist, but the dank, warm mesh hooked into his arm too firmly.  
  
He screamed. His muscles screamed as he tried to fight back, flex his arm against the onslaught. No. No! Nonononono…  
  
He screamed. It pulled his arm at an angle against the bed-frame. His bones cracked. He screamed again.  
  
Daniel…  
  
He couldn’t. The grafting pain made him lose his grip, and it dragged him down on the floor.  
  
He screamed as he tried to clutch at the dusty floor, brace his legs on something, dig his nails in, _anything_. It pulled him under the bed into the very dark, oozing, _breathing_ inky blackness.  
  
Daniel!  
  
…  
  
He wakes up with a start. Sweating and panting, he looks around the room. Alexander is there, looking highly concerned. He wasted no time in cutting to the source.  
  
“Daniel! Answer me! What did you see? Was it-“  
  
“Yes.”  
  
And that was it. He needn’t say more. The baron settled back as they looked at each other in mute accord, letting the answer hang there with chilling finality. It had begun.  
  
The Englishman still reeled at the brunt of the nightmare, the returning visage of flesh being torn and molded beyond recognition, just like the men from London-  
  
“Where’s Nina?” he ushered, cognizant fear of the presence’s capacity to manifest.  
  
“She’s right here.” Alexander assured as he pointed towards the carpet where the wolf-dog stood looking at Daniel, her ears laid back in concern. She let out a small whine and her tail twitched in attention when he looked back at her.  
  
Relieved, Daniel lay back against the pillow nursing his growing headache. The blight had been absent for so long he’d almost forgotten how powerful it was. It took it a while, but now there is no uncertainty. The Shadow had finally found its way back to him.  
  
He wiped the sweat off his brow, his hand moist and aching with phantom pains.  
  
  
~~~=(@)=~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the ‘I can lick too’ creepypasta from the Internet definitely inspired the scene here.


End file.
